


The Confessions of a Teenage Rent-Boy

by piersg16



Category: One Direction (Band), Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lirry - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Narry - Freeform, Prostitution, larry stylinson - Freeform, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piersg16/pseuds/piersg16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing you should know about me is that I’m a whore. I don’t mean I’ve slept with every guy on the university campus.  I’m the rent boy of London. A slut living amongst: fake tans, bulging abs and tight fitting tops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confessions of a Teenage Rent-Boy

The first thing you should know about me is that I’m a whore. I don’t mean I’ve slept with every guy on the university campus. I’m the rent boy of London. A slut living amongst: fake tans, bulging abs and tight fitting tops. 

The most accurate way to spot a rent boy is to look for the undercover night owl. You think he’s part of the early morning rush. Busying from taxi to train to office. He’s the forgettable boy, the one you think of, dream of. But sure enough he’ll be gone from your memory within a matter of minutes.

Walk directly. Avoid eye contact. Shuffle past all the other commuters. You are a worker. Their shift’s beginning, but yours is done. I may have a designer suit. Savile Row shirts Ralph Lauren trousers and a Calvin Klein jacket. I may have a defining gate. My briefcase might be full Papers, or money. I may seem like I belong But this is not the real me.

I could never do a desk job. Prostitution and a world of work are by no means the same. It’s almost like they are parallel universes. Joining and binding together at certain points and being light years away at others.

The second thing you should know is that London is my home. Most people say it a demanding bitch, but if you love it, respect it, and get to know it, you can play it to your advantage. Me doing rent and living in London may be connected. But I can’t honestly be fucked to find out.

I’m not a school dropout, I don’t come from a broken family, I’m not addicted to anything, I also have no children to support and I even went to university. I’ve got my GCSE’s, A levels and a degree, as well as quite a few shags along the way. Now who honestly wants to sit behind the desk and type away hour on hour? God forbid I end up in accountancy or doing something like that. 

Renting is fairly stable so long as there are men with high libido there will be horny boys like me ready to help them out. I meet a lot of people. Of course they’re all men. No matter if they’re 67 and look like your granddad’s brother or if they only have a few teeth it’s my responsibility to give them the maximum amount of pleasure. You do anything to make them happy be it role play or domination. At the end of the day you’re putting a smile on someone’s face, and for me it’s worth it.

I should tell you now that I only came in to the prostitution game by accident. It was summer a couple of years back, when I moved in. I came down a few weeks before the move to check out the flat one last time. It was a new block of flats that had popped up by the banks of the river Thames. It was on the second to top floor, just below the penthouse owned by a rich Arab with several properties scattered though London and the world. In the entirety of the time I’ve been here I have only seen him about 4 times. Only 2 of those he spent more than a night in there.

However, not being on the top floor didn’t really bother me, my apartment’s fine. I have my own office and if you cross the hall you’ll find yourself in my kitchen. I love my kitchen. It’s bright, spacious and the counter’s big enough for 2. At the end of the hallway is my lounge with the best view of London that I could ever hope for. The whole of the far wall is one large window. Stretching from one end of the lounge straight through to the other side of the bedroom. There’s no wall between the 2 rooms. Some people may find this annoying, but when work is play, what’s the point in keeping them separate?

So anyway, it was early evening and I couldn’t be bothered to drive home. So I decided to sleep in my car. Across the street from where I was parked. I noticed a bar and decided to get a drink. Not long after I sat down this guy came and joined me. At first I didn’t know what to think but after a while he seemed rather nice. Hours went by of mindless chatting and he managed to talk me into coming back to his. It wasn’t bad at all, recently decorated and very modern furniture.

The room was lit by the night time glow. We were in for less than a minute when I felt the two hands grab me round the waist from behind. He pulled me in towards his body and caressed the back of my neck with his soft lips. I could feel his heart pulsing against my back. He spun me around and took me straight into one of the most intense kisses I have ever had. Pushing me back on to the bed I unbuttoned my jeans and he pulled them to my ankles. 

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure exactly why he wanted to fuck me. Whether it was because I was fit or if I came off easy or even because I was younger. But the next morning I found out. 

The light managed to break through my eye lids at what must have been gone ten. I saw a note on the bed side table that read:

 

Had an amazing night!  
Thanks for everything,  
Mark x

p.s. hope you don’t mind me recommending you to my mates :p

 

At first I found it rather funny as I thought he was making a joke, teasing me about being easy. I got out of bed and took a quick shower. I left the bathroom and I walked over to where I had dumped my clothes the night before. On the end of the bed was a role of twenty pound notes. I unraveled them and counted them up. There was about four hundred pounds, just in that tight little bundle.

I had been paid, paid for sex. I was a prostitute and I didn’t even realize it. There wasn’t one word the night before that had been about renting. Or was there, I could hardly remember. Why? Why did he pay me? Why did I even go home with him? Thousands of questions were racing through my brain I had no idea what to do. Was it really for me? If it wasn’t and I took it would it be stealing? Then it made sense, the note. 

I quickly came to the conclusion that it must have been. I got dressed shoved it my jeans pocket, got in my car and drove home. A week or so went past and job hunting had started to get repetitive and successfully dull. I must say giving out over 100 copies of your CV and getting only 2 responses doesn’t give you a particularly positive optimistic feeling. Especially when ones from a waste disposal service and the other is a ferret breeder.

I soon decided to look into a renting agency. Five minutes or so on the internet and I had found the perfect one. ‘High Rent’ with the tagline ‘The highest quality of London’s Rent Boys’ One meeting and a full STI test later I was adopted in to the establishment.

My agent, Simon, takes 40% of whatever I make. I have to have an average of at least 9 clients a week, and if I have any unsatisfied clients they he’ll take 70% of that taking. 

I’m very high class. This means I charge by the hour, and I charge a lot. So why do I do this? Well I love sex, and I love money. And what’s the two things that guys boast about the most (other than the size of their dick)? Yes, money and sex and how often they get it. Well I get it on a daily basis, so that’s that argument.

You probably won’t believe me when I tell you I enjoy the sex but I do. Also there are as many different types of rent boys as there are people so don’t be tempted to generalize. 

So what’s this all about? Well I have my fair share of interesting clients and more than enough questions to answer. So where better to expose them than in here. A journal, full of confessions, secrets, lies, danger and most importantly: sex.

Hope you enjoy,  
Jack West

 

A.K.A. Harry


End file.
